


Grieve by Dying

by MoonlightGanache (StardustMacaron)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Barebacking, Biting, Consent Issues, Desk Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Masochism, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Neck Kissing, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Tony Stark Has A Heart, lack of aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustMacaron/pseuds/MoonlightGanache
Summary: “... Sex pollen? That’s a thing?” he asks, disbelieving. He’s seen enough sci fi porn to recognise what he’s dealing with.“If left untreated, it’s possible the physical responses could escalate into a heart attack.”Of course it could. Peter’s eye twitches slightly. Mr Stark is still keeled over in the corner, and Peter really, really does not like where this is going.AKA: Sex Pollen Fuck-Or-Die Starker with a Heavy Angst Edge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some meta-humour in here, but it's very drowned out by the angst.
> 
> Yay for deconstructions.

Peter didn’t exactly realize what was going on at first. He was out with Mr Stark on a mission, not a dangerous mission, mind you. It required a couple extra hands and Stark through it would be a good learning experience for the kid. They weren’t supposed to encounter any trouble, it was mostly just trying to retrieve some information from some underground bunker lab.

Peter didn’t know all the specifics, in spite of having asked about it as much as he could. He couldn’t help being curious, though he was careful about seeming too childish and eager in front of Mr Stark. He wanted to be considered somewhat adult, after all.

He was mostly just standing lookout while Mr Stark rifled around the lab. Peter would admit he got a little distracted by some of the weird research papers lying around. He picked up a couple to skim over, relying on his spider sense to alert him if someone approached.

He definitely didn’t need his spider sense to hear the loud crash from inside the lab, or the string of profanities that followed.

“Mr Stark?” he called, anxiously. He hurried to set the papers back down and ran to check on his mentor. It was unlikely he was injured or anything, but Peter figured he might need help with whatever had broken.

Mr Stark was backed up against a wall, he’d taken his suit off and was breathing heavily. Peter looked at him carefully. His pupils were dilated, he was clutching his chest. He looked almost pained.

“What’s going on, sir?” Peter asks. Mr Stark’s head snaps up, as though he’d only just realised the kid was standing there. He shakes his head and rasps out some words.

“Kid, kid, you gotta… you gotta get out of here, now,” he breathes.

“What, why? What happened? Are you hurt?”

Peter scrambles to get closer, but Karen chimes in and informs him it’s not a good idea. Peter stops dead in his tracks, his panic rising. He asks meekly, needing to know what’s happening.

Karen informs him that Mr Stark had been exposed to a dangerous powdery substance, one that apparently influenced his temperature, upped his heart rate, and created a state of intense arousal.

“... Sex pollen? That’s a thing?” he asks, disbelieving. He’s seen enough sci fi porn to recognise what he’s dealing with. It doesn’t make the knowledge any less unsettling for him, though.

“How… how dangerous is it? Is this like a fuck or die scenario, or will it work it’s way through without any help?” he asks again, really hoping the answer is that no, it’s not like in those cheesy science fiction pornos he’s seen, of course it’s not.

“If left untreated, it’s possible the physical responses could escalate into a heart attack.”

Of course it could. Peter’s eye twitches slightly. Mr Stark is still keeled over in the corner, and Peter really, really does not like where this is going.

* * *

Of course, he had something of a crush on Mr Stark. That much was obvious to anyone with eyes, and even those without. He followed the man around like a lost puppy, desperate for approval. That… That didn’t mean he was prepared for this, of all things.

“Mr Stark, you have to let me help you,” he pleads. Mr Stark was being a stubborn asshole, as per usual, even with his life on the line. Keeping the kid at an arm’s length even when he knew the stakes.

“No, no, you need to leave, right now,” Mr Stark stresses each word, trying to sound stern despite his current state. Peter sighs deeply. He’s tempted to slap the man.

“Fucking me this one time has gotta be better than dying, right?” he says, trying for some kind of twisted humour. Mr Stark shakes his head. Of course, Tony Stark would rather die than fuck Peter.

“Doing great things for my self esteem right now,” he snarks. Mr Stark actually laughs a little at that, almost relaxing a tiny bit. Peter takes the opportunity to push a little more.

“It’ll just be this once, only because of the pollen. It’s okay,” he assured Mr Stark. Mr Stark continues trying to protest and Peter gets frustrated.

“... I… want to. I want to do this, for you, Mr Stark, please,” he says gently. It’s a lie. He doesn’t want to. He’s had Mr Stark’s face enter his fantasies before, but this is really not the ideal situation. In fact, if he’s being honest, he’s kind of terrified. But he needs Mr Stark to relent here, just for a second.

And Mr Stark does, thank the gods. He lets his guard down, just a little, just for a moment, and Peter forces himself to surge into a kiss before he has time to think it through. He has to do this, for Mr Stark.

* * *

It hurts. Peter could easily overpower Mr Stark if he wanted to, which he does, but he really can’t right now. Mr Stark isn’t in his right mind, and Peter wonders if he’d be gentler if he was thinking straight.

Peter is bent over a table, his face pressed into the cold surface, Mr Stark is standing over him with a death grip on the boy’s hips. The thrusts are erratic, brutal, completely unrestrained.

They aren’t really using proper lubrication, but it was enough to keep it from being completely horrific. Still, it  _ hurts _ . Peter can’t get it out his head, the sting of pain with every thrust, the dull ache of Mr Stark’s hands digging into his sides.

He grips the edge of the table and squeezes his eyes shut. The worst part of it all is that he’s hard, too. The underlying current of pain is actually turning him on, sending jolts of pleasure through him each time Mr Stark pushes in harder, faster.

He’ll never be able to make eye contact with the man after this, but he almost doesn’t care. He wants to beg for more, to make it hurt even worse. He hadn’t even realised he was into that. He can’t help himself, he arches up into Mr Stark’s thrusts, reaches a hand underneath himself and begins stroking himself. It hurts a little too, but Peter feels desperate. He wonders if he might have inhaled some of the pollen himself.

Mr Stark leans down and suddenly starts kissing Peter’s neck, before biting into the flesh. Peter almost cries out with the feeling of it, like he’s being claimed. It feels good, and it’s followed so quickly by Mr Stark pushing in as deeply as he can, spilling inside of him. Peter comes a little bit after that, the feeling of Mr Stark’s teeth in his neck, and his insides flooded with come spurring him on.

And then it’s over.

Mr Stark pulls out, staggers backwards, and Peter lies there, bent over the table, feeling exhausted and loose. He hears a sharp intake of breath behind him, and figures that Mr Stark has come back to his senses.

Mr Stark passes out a few moments later, and Peter forces himself to stand up. He needs to take a shower, fast. He clenches his ass tightly, the strange sensation of come leaking out him makes him feel discomforted.

Though, and he’d rather not admit to this, it also kind of turns him on.

 

* * *

They arrive back in New York late at night. Mr Stark has a driver drop Peter back at his home, and Peter tries not to feel too put out that Mr Stark refuses to look at him. He gets it, he really does. He doesn’t think he could handle Mr Stark looking at him right now, either.

He spends the next few days avoiding school, insisting that he doesn’t feel well. It’s not exactly a lie. He keeps thinking about it, and about the way Mr Stark hasn’t spoken to him since.

He feels guilty, he realises. He feels like he took advantage of Mr Stark. His own nausea and fear that day seem distant in comparison. Mr Stark couldn’t exactly consent, could say no, though he tried, and Peter had pushed and coerced him anyway.

Fuck. Did that make him a rapist? He felt bile rising in his throat. Thinking back, he couldn’t really consent either, he wasn’t being given much of a choice. Having Mr Stark’s death on his conscious would have killed him. This might kill him too, who knows.

He has nightmares about it, a ravenous, aggressive older man who looks exactly like Mr Stark but is nothing at all like him. He wakes in a cold sweat, erection aching beneath him. He jerks off quickly in the darkness and tries to forget it ever happened.

He knows better than to think it’ll ever go away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realistically, something like this was going to happen eventually. Something would give him PTSD, would give him nightmares, take away his peace of mind.
> 
> He’d sort of hoped that when that happened, Mr Stark would be there for him, instead… Mr Stark was, through no fault of his own, at the very center of his trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more comfort based follow up, to make things a little less bitter and more sweet.

Peter flinches when a kid taps him on the shoulder at school. He’s been jumpy ever since that mission, and he knows it’s not going unnoticed.

Michelle is suspiciously quiet around him, no jabs or insults or anything. Ned asks him about it repeatedly, obviously concerned, but Peter brushes him off and insists it’s nothing.

He’d never really thought about it much, but realistically, something like this was going to happen eventually. Not the sex pollen thing specifically, but something that would give him PTSD, that would give him nightmares, take away his peace of mind and his sleep.

He’d sort of hoped that when that happened, Mr Stark would be there for him, instead… Mr Stark was, through no fault of his own, at the very center of his trauma.

He ends up hiding in the bathrooms and hyperventilating for a few minutes, and it’s when he walks out and sees himself in the mirror, eyes all puffy and red from crying, face flushed and miserable, that he knows he’s getting worse.

He has to talk about what happened, and there’s only one person on Earth that’s going to understand him right now.

* * *

“Mr Stark?” Peter’s voice is small and hesitant. He knocks on the glass windows again.

“Mr Stark, are you there?” he calls, a little louder. It’s dark and cold and he’s tired, he just wants to talk about this, get it out in the open.

Finally, the window opens. Mr Stark walks out of his bedroom, looking disheveled and unkempt, a glass of… something in his hands.

Peter hesitates, unsure of what to do or to say or where to start.

“Well, kid? You coming in or not?” Mr Stark asks. His voice sounds hoarse, and Peter is almost certain the scent permeating the room is alcoholic.

Peter nods, and crawls inside through the window. He stands there for a moment, watching as Mr Stark shuffles over the couch and sits down with a heavy thump.

Peter follows, more cautiously, quietly, and sits delicately in the armchair beside him.

Peter watches as Stark takes a long drink. The silence feels thick and deafening. Peter swallows, and steels himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Stark barks out a laugh.

“You’re sorry? For what?” he asks. Peter’s brow twists into a knot.

“For… For taking advantage of you,” he says, his voice is quiet and wavering, the conviction lost to it.

Stark looks sombre, his expression grows dark and serious. Peter gulps.

“You,” he starts, “have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’re a kid, I took you on that mission, I fucked up by knocking over that glass, I should never have let you go through that, I shouldn’t have even put you in a position when you might have had to do that in the first place.”

Peter avoids eye contact while Stark rants about his own guilt, about how he took advantage of Peter. Taking a deep breathe, Peter cuts the man off.

“I keep having dreams about it,” he says. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure nightmares would be a better word here,” he suggests.

Peter shakes his head, and squirms as he tries to get the words out.

“They’re dreams, they’re… they’re… w… w,” a deep breath in, Peter closes his eyes, and tries to force the word past his lips.

“Wet,” he manages at last, “Wet dreams.”

Tony drops his glass.

 

* * *

The night feels endless, stretching around them. Tony just stares at Peter, looking mildly disturbed, and expectantly waiting for him to continue.

“He looks like you, the man in my dreams, but he’s… he’s not you, at all,” Peter explains.

“How is he not?” Tony asks, incredulous.

“He’s aggressive and cruel and forceful, and you’re… you’re none of those things,” Peter insists.

Of course, the statement is met with a laugh.

“Yeah, sure, I was gentle and passive when I fucked you over the table,” he snarks. His laugh is completely humourless, and the sound of it makes Peter feel strangely empty inside.

“That… that wasn’t you, you wouldn’t do that to me,” Peter whispers.

He gets it now, Tony hadn’t spoken to him since because they were both torn up inside by that day. They’re both traumatised and suffering, and Peter’s heart feels heavy with the weight of it all.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought that was you,” Peter says, and he almost hear his own tears as he speaks. Tony stands up abruptly, and turns to walk away, visibly shaking.

“Please, Mr Stark, I don’t have anyone else I can talk to about this,” he begs.

“I… I need you right now,” and that does it. They both seem to break apart in an instant.

Peter is crying, and Tony is rushing to his side, kneeling down in front of the chair and pulling Peter into a tight hug. Peter melts into it. He needs it, the warmth and contact and comfort of someone he trusts.

It doesn’t make sense to him, that he could still feel safe with Tony, that he can still trust him, but it doesn’t change the way he feels right now. He felt so empty and cold, but now, with Tony rubbing a hand over his back, his hand gently carding through his hair, he feels whole.

The sobs are wracking through his whole body now, but all he can hear is the way Tony is murmuring into his chest, telling him it’ll be okay, he’s not going anywhere, nobody will hurt him here. Peter believes every single word.

There’s still so much that needs to be discussed, so much they need to work through, but right now… If Tony says they’ll be okay, then Peter knows it’s true. Somehow, some way, he knows they’ll get through this.

Peter hugs Tony back just as tightly, and hopes he never has to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, figured out how to write a happy-ish ending. Who knew I had it in me huh.


End file.
